The Building Manager - Part 2 (fm:one-on-one, 3547 words) [2/4] show all parts | |||
Author: Greystone | |||
Added: Jul 28 2025 | Views / Reads: 1065 / 1011 [95%] | Part vote: 9.83 (15 votes) | |
After being tortured by watching his wife being unfaithful, a High School teacher turns the tables. | |||
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Once I arrived home from the city on Wednesday night, I couldn't help torturing myself by watching the video of my wife, Casey fucking the building manager at her apartment. I had a raging hard-on and no where to put it.I was flooded with emotions. I was angry at her for betraying me, afraid for the future, humiliated that I wasn't enough, embarrassed about going to a small soiree that was only an adulterous tryst in disguise and I was in denial that something like this could have happened to me.
A spouse's greatest fear is to find out that their partner has been unfaithful. They usually only find out ex post facto out of the partners guilt or faced with incriminating evidence, but to witness it in live action, I'm sure is a rare occurrence. I read somewhere that 90 per cent of affairs are never exposed.
I don't know why I used my phone to record her infidelity - a gut feeling, a little bird told me or a sixth sense. Whatever it was at the time, now seems to be poisoning my soul, taunting me to watch and become sexually aroused.
Frustrated, I got undressed, showered and went to bed. It was past my bedtime. I had to teach in the morning and it was already midnight.
Once I was cozy in my bed, I watched the video again, this time I masturbated to it, twice. I am not sure why it tantalized me so much, but it did...
The next morning, the sky was blue, the sun was shining and spring was in the air. It was a new day and I was in a great mood, even though my world had come apart at the seams. Lack of sleep, I suppose.
As I entered the school grounds, I made the decision to go into the shop Door, to avoid people and their curious questions about Casey's sudden departure from my life. No thank you. I'll take a hard pass on that one.
My first morning class was Wood Work, and one of the young ladies in the group, Rosalee walked up to me and gave me a sincere, tight, inappropriate, lingering hug. Her large firm boobs were pushed into my chest. It caught me off guard for sure. She was a beautiful girl with a pale complexion, dark hair, blue eyes and the nicest ass that I've ever seen in yoga pants.
She was jokingly flirtatious with me throughout her four years of high school, but this morning it seemed real. Rosalee was a little bold and a bit naive at times. A crazy combination in a hormone crazed teenage girl. Unpredictably dangerous would be the words that come to mind.
Rosalee asked how I was doing since my wife left me. She was a sincere young lady, with an honest, caring heart.
The previous week, we, as a class, had surprised Rosalee for her 18th birthday with a table saw cake and ice cream. She literally cried tears of joy.
In light of Rosalee's question, I gathered the group around and told them that my wife and I were technically still together, but her career was in the city for now and I asked that they quash any rumours that they had heard that said otherwise. They agreed but I was sure that they wouldn't follow through. I knew that a few of them would start new rumours and some would bring different stories back to me altogether.
All day long, as I had all week so far, I received text messages and questions from friends, staff and students. Small town life.
I saw Rosalee two more times that day and she hugged me each time when we were alone in the classroom, before the bell rang. I wanted so badly to touch her perky little nose, kiss her lips and squeeze her sweet ass in those LuLu Lemons.
At the end of that long, tiring day, I was actually looking forward to an empty house, sweats and t-shirt,TV remote and a few beers.
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This is part 2 of a total of 4 parts. | ||
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Hook writes Mon 28 Jul 2025 19:30:
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It's a small town. Word gets around. My guess is that Part 3 is a different woman, maybe Rosalee's mother?
Part 3? This is quite tantalizing.
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